


not so shore

by akaiiko



Series: lifeguard boys in love [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Baywatch AU, Lifeguard Boys in Love, M/M, Questionable Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 22:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12713994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaiiko/pseuds/akaiiko
Summary: What scares Keith Kogane about skinny dipping at sunrise in Voltron Bay is not the cold, the sharks, or the undertow. It’s the probability of boners.





	not so shore

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a [prompt](https://akaiikowrites.tumblr.com/post/167461044873/sheith-fic-prompt-as-it-starts-getting-colder) from @spacesheiths.

What scares Keith Kogane about skinny dipping at sunrise in Voltron Bay is not the cold, the sharks, or the undertow. It’s the probability of boners. Specifically, boners induced by his best friend and fellow lifeguard.

There are, after all, _reasons_ that people make sand sculptures of Shiro and it’s only maybe thirty percent because of that time he saved their life and twenty percent because of that time he wrestled two sharks simultaneously. The other fifty percent? Entirely based on Shiro’s perfectly symmetrical face and heavily muscled body.

A lesser man would tap out. Chalk it up to any number of very solid, reasonable excuses about the cold, the sharks, or the undertow. But it’s a well documented fact that Keith Kogane’s response to any kind of challenge is “ _fucking witness me_ ” and this is no different.

“You sure about this?” Per usual, Shiro sounds genuinely concerned. Like he would entirely understand if Keith tapped out but also understands that Keith’s not going to tap out even though he should tap out.

Keith grabs the back of his old red _the emergency services of voltron bay thank you for your stupidity_ tee and yanks it over his head. It comes off soft and easy. Raising his gaze to Shiro, he says, “I’m sure. You wanted to do this. So we’re doing this.” To punctuate how very sure he is, he balls the tee in his fist and tosses it down to the sand.

“If you’re sure,” Shiro says. At least he sounds teasing instead of concerned, now, but Keith’s mouth is still opening to snark back something. He doesn’t get a chance before Shiro pulls his own shirt over his head in one elegant move that makes Keith feel like he just swallowed a mouthful of sand. Years of working the surf of the Bay have sculpted Shiro into a god among men and Keith’s mind supplies all the detail obscured by the dim predawn light. It gets worse when Shiro hooks his thumbs into his swim shorts and shoves them down. Keith’s eyes drink in how the line of hair at Shiro’s navel that’s taunted him for years leads down to a thick patch of dark hair right above his—

For his own sanity, Keith jerks his eyes away. _No boners_ , he chants to himself rather miserably, _no boners_.

“Keith?” The way Shiro says his name implies that this might be the second or third time he’s done so. Which means that Keith has been staring broodily into the middle distance commanding himself not to get a boner for at least thirty seconds. Maybe more. Fuck.

Turning back to Shiro, Keith says, “Yeah, I’m listening.” When he turned he made the decision to focus his eyes on the inoffensive and theoretically uninspiring spot known as Shiro’s jaw. Just to make sure he wouldn’t look anywhere that might inspire certain bodily disruptions. This was a tactical error because looking at Shiro’s jaw makes him think about pressing a kiss there, and then nibbling along it, and then trailing kisses down from where his jaw meets his neck to his pulse point, and then—

“ _Keith_.”

“Yeah?”

“I asked if you’d changed your mind. Sun’s coming up.” Right. The sunrise skinny dipping wasn’t just because it had a certain ring to it—like a story waiting to be created to be dispensed to eager grandchildren sixty years from now—but also because skinny dipping is technically illegal in the Bay and they are technically enforcers of such legalities.

“No, I didn’t.” Keith drops his gaze to his own feet and unbuttons his cargo shorts. When he shoves them down with the boxer briefs inside, he tries to ignore the flush he can feel spreading across his chest, and fails miserably.

But they’re best friends for a lot of reasons and one of them is how Shiro knows when to cuff his shoulder with the easy camaraderie of people who know all each other’s scars.

“Race you,” Shiro says.

Then he’s running, full tilt, graceful on the shifting sand because they’ve run this course what feels like every day of their lives. Keith leaps after him, catching up right as they hit the tide line, because he’s built for agility while Shiro’s built for power. Wet sand kicks up under their feet as they dig their toes in and race faster. They hit the surf and keep running. By now they both know the exact spot where it gets too deep to run and they dive in perfect sync.

Cold shocks through Keith’s system but it’s the good cold that feels like being alive. Keeping his legs together he snaps his hips into a powerful dolphin kick that carries him out several yards. He knows these waters, how the tides push and pull, so he uses it to propel himself out until his lungs burn. Bursting through the surface, he sucks in a gasping breath of air that fills his aching lungs to capacity.

Dark eyes sweep over his surroundings. He’s a good thirty yards from shore. Not quite to the drop off into deep water. Shiro’s a few feet behind him, still shaking the water out of his hair as he treads water.

“Okay, so we’ve officially skinny dipped,” Keith says. There’s a painful light feeling in his heart but he keeps his expression deadpan. “Now what?”

Shiro laughs. It’s so open and good that Keith aches with it. There are so many things to regret in his life but he knows that this will not be one of them. Shiro swims over to Keith with long, even strokes. Says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “Now we enjoy the sunrise.”

They’re so close together that their treading legs almost tangle up in one another. The seawater makes Shiro’s eyelashes clump but the oncoming dawn makes Shiro’s eyes turn the grey of seafoam. It occurs to Keith too late that maybe the real danger wasn’t boners. Maybe the real danger was the memories made along the way to boners.

“Why did you suggest this?” Wait, no, that’s not what he’d meant to say at all. Because if he asked that question then he’d have to answer why he’d looked at Shiro’s face—at Shiro’s hopeful, expectant, handsome face—and agreed to do something this dumb. But now he’s said it.

One side of Shiro’s lips kicks up in a wry half smile. “I don’t know.”

Keith blinks. Shoves water in Shiro’s direction. Laughs when it makes a direct hit and causes Shiro to sputter helplessly. Yells when a much larger wave gets sent his way. Falls into a splash fight even though it’s childish and likely to attract sharks.

It ends when Shiro launches at him and catches him around the neck with one arm. They both sink under the water and come up laughing. Legs tangled up for real this time but still afloat mostly because they’ve done this too many times before. Only now it’s nothing but skin on skin. Shiro’s arm is still hooked over one of his shoulders and Keith’s laughing breathlessly into the hollow of Shiro’s throat. They are salt tacky and happy.

Part of him has already forgotten what got them here but Shiro says, “I wanted something that was just us.” Maybe they’ve both got regrets.

Above them the sky marbles with pink and orange and periwinkle. Soft like so few things in life are. It’s a promise that the sun is coming. Eventually the sun does come, and for a moment it’s just a rim of fire on the horizon, and the memory of a thousand sunrises on this beach slams into him.

It’s over soon enough and they swim back to shore. Keith lets Shiro’ lead the way because he’s reluctant suddenly to go back to shore. To put clothes on. To face what’s coming. But they go back to shore. They pull on their clothes and Keith grimaces as his boxer briefs cling to his salt streaked skin. He’s buttoning his shorts when he looks down toward the water again.

Down the beach, past the tide line filled with ocean debris, there’s quietly rolling waves that’ll turn bigger once the tide comes in. Keith instinctively counts the space between each crash and thinks that today’ll be good for surfing. But he won’t be here.

Feeling like he’s lost the air in his lungs, he says, “I’m going to miss this.” It comes out more plaintive than he thought it would. Keith’s words feel too small to explain how it hurts to think how the promise here isn’t for him anymore.

Behind him there’s a quiet sigh. It’s all the warning he gets before Shiro’s wrapped around him, salt tacky skin warm against his, one arm around his shoulders and the other around his waist in a hold that feels almost like Shiro’s trying to anchor him. Keith sinks into the embrace gratefully and sucks in a deep breath. It feels like coming up from deep water. Shiro’s grip tightens for a half second and then he says, “It’ll still be here for you. Keith, it’ll _always_ be here for you.”

What Keith wants to ask would make him more naked than he was just a few minutes ago. The words burn him but he swallows them down. One of his hands finds Shiro’s when it rests over his hip and he twines their fingers. All he can do is hold on.


End file.
